About Me
by Amicitia1
Summary: Our favorite mutants have to write an essay about themselves. What can they say in 200 words?


Rogue put her head in her hands and groaned. Only the second day of school, and already they were having a stupid assembly for somethingerother. The head of the English department tapped the microphone, and her entire body tensed against the obnoxious whine.  
"This year," said Mr. McCaffrey, "your first assignment will be a little self-reflection exercise. This means all of you."  
This time, Rogue's anguish was covered by the sound of everyone else's.  
"It's not hard," the teacher assured them. "All you have to do is write 200 words about yourself, so your teacher knows a little bit about where you're coming from, and has a basis for judging your later work. This will be handed in to your English teacher one week from today.  
"First, the rules. All you have to do is write exactly 200 words, legibly or typed. No quitting in the middle of a sentence. You can write what other people think of you, but mostly it should be how you see yourself."  
A coughing fit erupted from one Mr. Maximoff. One Mr. Wagner turned in his seat and cuffed the other boy on the shoulder.  
"And for those of you who are still thinking about blowing this off, consider this. Every acceptable paper gets an A. An easy grade to start the semester. 200 words is *not* very much, people. Let's try for A's across the board!"  
There was extremely mild applause as Mr. McCaffrey ceded the floor to someone else with beginning-of-the-year announcements.  
Rogue took out her notebook and began to write.  
  
9/15/03  
  
"They call me Rogue. That's the only name I will ever write on my papers, so don't bother me about it. I don't do group work, I don't participate much in class, and I hate oral presentations. But I'm listening to everything you say, and I get all the homework done, even the reading assignments. Actually, I like to write. I'm never happy with short, simple pieces, so I hope you're not one of the teachers who will mark me down for going over the requirements. I much prefer teachers who give open-ended assignments, and let me be creative, and don't make a big deal over small grammatical errors. I mean, it's the content that's important, right? Spelling and stuff can always be fixed later.  
"Yes, I do read for fun. You might catch me at it during lunch. Don't interrupt me. I like my fantasy worlds.  
"As for my inspirations...I don't know. Sometimes characters are inspired by people I've seen. Sometimes I use things I remember from my dreams. Sometimes I just get that spark, where you know exactly what you want to write.  
"Oh, and I'm from the South, so don't mind my slang. Have a nice day."  
  
Later that afternoon, Scott sat at his desk with two pages of looseleaf. One for drafting, crossing out, and adding in. The other for a neat final copy. He began with his name and date, which didn't count as words.  
  
Scott Summers  
9/15/03  
  
"I'm Scott Summers. That's important to me. A lot of people will probably say the best thing they have is their stereo system, or their car, but for me it's my name.  
"I don't usually talk about this, but the assignment is to write about yourself, and I always follow instructions. They say I'm the responsible one.  
"For years I was in an orphanage. My parents died in a plane accident, and I didn't have any aunts or uncles or grandparents. Maybe it's better now, but when I was in the system, it was a very impersonal place. The staff knew me only by my file. I sometimes forgot I was myself, but then I would remember my name, and I knew I was connected to generations of Summerses and Vernes. It kind of helped me keep going.  
"Eventually Professor Xavier bailed me out. He contacted Child Protection Services to see if my brother was still alive. They found him, which was probably one of the best things to ever happen to me, but I was really disappointed to see he'd taken the name of his adoptive family. He's legally changing it back now, so that's great.  
"And that's me."  
  
The next day was Wednesday. Kitty sprawled across her bed, English notebook open in front of her. What was she supposed to write? How could she summarize herself in 200 words? Was she *that* shallow?  
She sighed, and let her thoughts and her pen flow freely.  
  
Kitty Pryde  
9/16/03  
  
"Wow. Um. Wow. People don't usually ask me questions like that, you know? I mean, I'm just Kitty, right? I'm a sophomore now, but a lot of people at school recognize me. I'm not involved in that much stuff, am I? I don't do sports or anything. No cheerleading, no acting, no student government or yearbook or stuff like that. Maybe it's because I'm in advanced classes, so the older kids see a lot of me.  
"I get _so_ much homework. It's not that bad. I like learning stuff. Sometimes I just feel like the days are getting shorter, literally, and there's no way I can finish everything. And then somehow it all gets done. I guess you just have to put your mind to it. And work expands to fill the time available, right?  
"So, I really don't like English class that much. Sorry. I just think it's kind of boring, reading what people wrote a long time ago. Modern stuff isn't so bad, I guess, but I can't stand non-fiction. If I want that, I'll go read my science book. I love science.  
"Well, I hope that's good enough. I'll absolutely die if I don't get the A."  
  
Pietro sat in study hall Thursday afternoon, his brain rapidly processing words. He would almost certainly be the only person in the school to get a perfect, 200-word essay on his first try. As that thought crossed his mind, he reconceptualized his opening paragraph. Satisfied, he began to write.  
  
Pietro Maximoff  
9/17/03  
  
"Perfect. That's me in one word. Yeah, I know, you're going to say I have a big ego. I'm going to tell you it's true.  
"If you were a woman, Mr. Eichler, I'd first have you just look at me. But I'm not into guys, so don't even think about looking anywhere other than my face.  
"So you'll have to start with my writing. I'm an ace at mechanics. I can't stand bad grammar and misspellings. I also don't make careless mistakes. I dare you to find any error in any of my work this year.  
"Third, I'm time-efficient. I speed-read, get all assignments in on time, and I'm always the first to have my hand up. You'd better call on me a lot too, because it really irks me when I'm ignored.  
"Another thing you should know: I don't like rules. Not that I'm actually going to kill a classmate or anything (except maybe that Evan Daniels), but don't expect me to follow your instructions to the letter, or conform to your standards, or accept your interpretations of readings, or play to you like some wussy teacher's pet. And I don't care if you mark me down for it."  
  
Friday evening found Tabitha a prisoner in her own room. Pietro had somehow managed to block all exits, insisting that his housemates do the assignment. Tabby turned her stereo to full volume and flopped on the floor with a hardcover book, a few sheets of paper, and a sparkly pen.  
  
Tabitha Smith  
9/18/03  
  
"Hey teacher, are you writing one of these too? Because I don't even know your name. I probably still won't know it in June. Not that I care, as long as you let me leave my headphones on while you lecture.  
"I could care less about this assignment, your class, and the whole stupid school system. What do I need education for? I don't want a boring office job. Actually, I don't want any job. I'll borrow a little something from my roomies, get some new clothes, and marry a rich guy. Then I'll just kick back in his mansion and let the maids do all the housework. Nope, don't need no fancy book-learning for that.  
"I like to talk about myself, though, so I guess I'll write this thing. You can call me Tabitha. Not Tabby, and definitely not Miss Smith. That makes me sound so _old_.  
"I can't believe I'm doing this on a Friday night. Only real _dorks_ do homework on Friday nights. Honestly, I have better things to do. Like see a movie. There must be something good out. Maybe I can catch the matinee tomorrow. Yeah, that could be fun. More fun than this, anyway."  
  
Evan slammed his door, the sound echoing through the Saturday morning quiet. He tore a few sheets out of his spiral notebook and threw himself into his swivel chair, intending to scribble something quickly. As he wrote, he found himself becoming engrossed in the exercise.  
  
Evan Daniels  
9/19/03  
  
"Man, this stinks. The Prof says I have to do this assignment before I can go boarding with my boys. As if the teacher is going to have any clue what that means. She's probably not even going to read this.  
"Hey teach, if you're there, it means I'm skateboarding with my friends. You probably don't care. I sure wouldn't want to be reading through this stack. Who came up with this assignment anyway? The superintendent, who flips a coin for snow days and barely lives in the district? Why aren't the kids in charge here?  
"Well, that's really kind of off-topic. Though I guess everything I write says something about me. Okay, so, if I ran the school...I'd start with the cafeteria food. It's really awful. My buddy Kurt always has two servings of everything, but he's just like that. Seriously, the kid will eat anything that isn't nailed down.  
"It's so gross. My folks raised me to eat real food. Chips and mini-doughnuts and ice cream, that's what I like for lunch. And milk. I love milk. I chug it like some kids drink beer. At least it won't kill me. Reckless stuff like that, it's just dumb."  
  
Saturday afternoon, Lance finally gave in to Pietro's demands. 200 sloppily-written words were his only ticket to freedom, and so he sat down to decide what they should be.  
  
Lance Alvers  
9/19/03  
  
"Teacher, mark the date. Lance Alvers has handed in his homework. That's right, you'll probably never see a completed assignment from me again. I'm only doing this one because Pietro thinks it's the best idea since running shoes and he won't let me leave my room until I finish it. He's such an _idiot_ sometimes.  
"I can't believe I live with these people. Pietro, Fred, and Todd. They're not in any of your classes, so you won't have to read whatever trash they come up with. Congratulations.  
"Oh yeah, then there's Tabby. She let herself into the empty bedroom. She _is_ in your class. I pity you.  
"But I'd better say something about me, or Pietro will make me do it over. I've been told I'm 'moody'. I like it that way. Don't try to send me to counseling, don't be a father-figure, don't ask me what's the matter. I don't want your touchy-feely garbage, and I don't want you to whisper about me to the school psychiatrist. It's bad for my rep.  
"And anyway, you don't know a thing about any problems I might have, so lay off. Fail me, suspend me, whatever. You can't touch me. I'm Lance."  
  
After brunch on Sunday, Kurt finally felt ready to write about himself. He'd decided to hand in a sort of censored double-speak for all the things he wasn't allowed to talk about. Slowly, carefully, he began to choose his words.  
  
Kurt Wagner  
9/20/03  
  
"They call me Kurt, at school. Alone, they use a whole list of embarrassing nicknames. Don't even ask.  
"Depending on your perspective, you'll call me a funny guy, a class clown, or a disruption. It doesn't matter to me, as long as you pronounce my name the German way.  
"I'm sorry if my work isn't good. I only learned English three years ago, before I came here. I try very hard. Sometimes I even remember to finish my homework.  
"Your class is right before my lunch, so I'm going to be very hungry. I don't skip breakfast, I'm just like that. I'll try not to pass out too much.  
"Also I have strange phobias. I'm very afraid of people being close to me. Just give me some space. If it's really bad, call my friends. They can help me.  
"I'm sorry for dumping all my problems on you. You're not a baby-sitter. Your profession is very respectable. (I hope those are the right words.) Maybe someday I'll know enough about something to be a teacher.  
"Sometimes I feel very stupid. My friends are constantly amazed at the American cultural knowledge I don't have.  
"I count my words. Eine, zwei, drei..."  
  
Sunday night, Jean collapsed onto her bed. It had been a long day, and she had the nagging feeling she'd forgotten something. Hmm...oh yeah, the English assignment. She sighed, crossed over to her desk, found paper and pencil in a drawer, and began to write.  
  
Jean Grey  
9/20/03  
  
"Wow, I finally got a minute to do this. It's the first week of school; how can I already be so busy? Don't worry, I always make time for homework. If I look tired, it's okay, I've got it under control.  
"So, 200 words about me. I feel so self-centered. Usually I'm thinking about other people. I guess you could call me a team player. (Girls' soccer team, to be exact.)  
"Well, maybe I can write about the things in my room. Here's the picture of my family. It was taken in a studio a few years ago. This is my grandmother's necklace. I think it even goes back a few more generations. I should ask my mom.  
"Over there is a self-portrait I made in elementary school. I was a pretty lousy artist. I still can't draw very well. I take good photos, though. That's what I do for the yearbook.  
"I have a computer, but it's mostly gathering dust. I don't use it very much, except for writing reports and checking a little email. Actually, I'm more or less Internet-illiterate. I should learn, if I had the time.  
"This looks like almost 200 words. And now, it is."  
  
Toad had managed to last the weekend on principle alone. He was going to do the project on his own terms, and he was going to do it in a place where the Brotherhood would never think to look for him. At a big wooden table in the Bayville Public Library, he put pen to paper.  
  
Todd Tolenski  
9/21/03  
  
"Cool, with-it, up-to-the-minute, composed, collected, aloof, impassive, nonchalant, unsociable, indifferent, stand-offish, unemotional, unresponsive, dispassionate, imperturbable, detached, reserved, unconcerned, uninterested, unapproachable.  
"Yeah, I used a thesaurus. 200 words is a lot, you know? Don't tell nobody. It ain't cool to be seen in a library.  
"I don't even know why I'm doing this. Maybe cuz nobody's really asked me about myself before. I mean, people got things they want to say, and when nobody's there to listen, where does it go? Nobody's ever there for me. I'm like a tree or something, just part of the scenery. Aren't my ideas important?  
"Don't go mushy and try to give me a life lesson or whatever. And don't say you know what I'm going through, because you don't. It's tough being a teenager these days. I mean, I bet you have problems too, but people, they don't want other folks' problems, so they just don't listen.  
"So when I walk into class, and you say, 'How ya doin'?', I'll say, 'Fine', because that's what you want to hear. You don't want to know how I'm lonely, and picked on, and don't always have money for lunch.  
"Because then, they'd be your problems too."  
  
Tuesday, the day the essay was due, Fred rose early and went down to the kitchen. He searched his backpack for the least-crumpled piece of paper, printed his name and the date, and began to write a letter.  
  
Fred Dukes  
9/22/03  
  
"Dear Mr. Teacher,  
"I know it looks like I'm doing this at the last minute, but that's because I've put a lot of thought into it. I'm no good at first impressions, and I want to tell you who I really am.  
"I won't say I'm the smartest kid in the school. You know that, because this isn't an advanced class. I'm slow, and I'm not patient, and it's hard, and half the time I throw the book across the room before I finish the homework. But I try, really I do.  
"Mr. Teacher, this will sound strange, but I hope you're strict. When the kids are whispering in the back of the room, I know what they're saying. I know it isn't true, but it makes me mad, and then I can't stop myself from hurting someone. I don't like being at the end of a joke. Why can't they see that?  
And Mr. Teacher, give a big pat on the back to whoever invented this assignment. There's probably lots of kids who have been waiting for a chance to say a few things, and now they get an A for writing what they think.  
"Your student,  
"Fred Dukes" 


End file.
